#babka talks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anyroads · 2 years

Text

OK you know what, if we're gonna talk about Bake Off then fuck it, let's do this.

It used to be this wholesome, lovely show! We used to watch it for the bakers! And the learning! And the light banter and occasional bit of coy innuendo! What happened?

Channel 4 happened. When they bought the show they made a number of changes, most of them Not Good™️. Not just in the sense of them resulting in a lot of 😬 and 🫠 moments, but in the sense of how they changed the show's purpose, atmosphere, and brand.

Look, I know most people are just like, "whatever, it's just a baking show," and yeah, sure. But it's one of the UK's most successful TV exports, and where it once shifted the tone of reality competition to being wholesome and supportive of contestants, it's since moved towards creating tension at the contestants' cost. So aside from the fact that most people watching it signed up to watch a nice show, it has also shifted the goalposts of what that even means. And that, lovelies and gentlefolk, is some bullshit.

I decided to break my rant analysis into four main parts: theme weeks, the hosts, the judges, and the bakers. Let's get to it!

Theme Weeks:

If you watch Bake Off, you know the show's always had a specific theme for each week. The staples that come up in most seasons are:

cake

biscuit

bread

pudding/dessert

pastry

patisserie

Less common but consistent are things like caramel and chocolate week.

Then there are the fun episodes! When GBBO was on the BBC, this started out with things tea week, tarts, pies, tray bakes, basically little tangents still focused on emphasizing specific baking skills. In Series 6 (still on the BBC) they had their first nation-focused theme week with French week -- fairly innocuous given that a lot of patisserie is French, France and England share much more culture than either cares to admit [Norman Flag dot gif], and it was a nice change from watching Paul make the bakers do recipes that involved boiling things while talking about how wonderful boiled doughs are (are they, Paul? Are they?).

The show kept mixing it up with innocuous themes like advanced dough and alternative ingredients weeks, European cakes, Victorian week, batter week, and botanical week. And while it was frustrating to watch Paul Hollywood mispronounce things like the Hungarian Dobos Torta and lecture bakers on babka when he clearly knew nothing about it (or about Jewish baking in general, go off Past Me), the show's general attitude was that the judges had their own opinions, which were separate from the immutable facts around the chemistry of baking (more on this later) and shouldn't affect how bakers are judged.

After the show moved to Channel 4, the number of themed weeks increased and more of them focused on specific countries. In 6 seasons on the BBC, there were only two country-focused theme weeks, and in 5 seasons on Channel 4 there have been five. And while they've also had themes like vegan baking, roaring 20s, the 1980s, spice week, etc. the show has really started to go hard on exoticizing other cultures in outright disrespectful and racist ways. There's been Italian and Danish week, German, Japanese (it wasn't, it was East Asian week), and now Mexican week (which doesn't touch on interspersed Jewish bakes that didn't get a theme week, like versions of bagels and babka set as technical challenges that were borderline hate crimes and mansplained by a guy who has no idea how to make either and once wrote in a cookbook that challah was traditionally eaten during Passover). Each time the hosts played up the theme with racist bits and jokes that can be used as evidence in court if your case is "why should shows with scripted content have a professional writing staff."

Which touches on other issues the show has now...

The Hosts:

When GBBO was on the BBC, the show was hosted by ✨Mel Giedroyc✨ and ✨Sue Perkins✨. They encouraged the bakers! They'd hold stuff for them sometimes! They were interested in them! If a baker had a breakdown, they would start singing copyrighted material to render the footage unusable! When the show moved to Channel 4, they left, though I'm not unconvinced that Channel 4 offered them impossible to accept contracts to force them out so they could rebrand the show. They replaced them with Sandy Toksvig and Noel Fielding. Sandy was a lovely host in the vein of Mel and Sue, and she and Noel had a relatively sweet rapport, but she left a few seasons ago and was replaced by Matt Lucas.

Noel Fielding is mostly known for his quirky brand of comedy, a sort of British Zooey Deschanel who's goth from the neck up, an upperclass British gay divorcee from the neck down, and basically an early 60s Beatle re: trousers. Matt Lucas has almost definitely never watched a single episode of GBBO and his most redeeming quality is his thinly veiled contempt for Paul Hollywood.

The two treat the baking tent as their personal playground. Far from the supportive attitude of Mel and Sue, they tend to get in the bakers' way during the most stressful moments, especially when they try to do hilarious "comedy" bits (I can't not put that in quotes) like Noel's talking wooden spoon thing, or Matt talking over Noel to do time calls. During theme weeks like Japanese and Mexican week, they do culture-specific bits that are both racist ("just Juan joke" and "is Mexico a real place?") and unsurprising, given that both Matt and Noel did blackface on their respective sketch shows and absolutely could and should have known better because it was already the current fucking century.

All this to say, there's now a separation between the bakers and the hosts, as if they're on different shows. The hosts are doing their own thing and the bakers are doing GBBO. The show has gotten meaner to the bakers, and the hosts aren't there to support them anymore, they're just there to be comic relief. Because when you refocus your show on stressing the bakers the fuck out, you need a forced laugh I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

The Judges:

First of all, a sincere congratulations to Paul Hollywood who managed to squeeze I jUsT cAmE bAcK fRoM mExIcO aNd YeT sTiLL pRoNoUnCe PiCo De GaLLo As 'PiKa De KaLLa' and I aM aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS wHiCh aRe MaDe WiTh DiGeStiVe BiScUiTs AcCoRdiNg tO mE, aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS, just two in a giant pile of astoundingly wrong hot takes, into a short enough time span that they all aired within Liz Truss's term as Prime Minister. A true man of accomplishments.

In the interest of fairness, I need to preface this with a disclaimer that, due to the fact that I've been watching Bake Off for most of its run, I'm biased. Specifically, I can't stand Paul Hollywood's smarmy, classist, egomaniac ass because he's proven time and again he's more interested in looking smart than actually knowing what he's talking about. Since the show moved to Channel 4, they've changed the occasional handshake Paul would give bakers to the HoLlYwOoD hAnDsHaKe™️. It's gone from being an emphasis of someone's skill to a goal, a reward, and one that emphasizes the judges' place above the bakers.

The judges used to function as teachers, imparting their skills and insights to the bakers. When the show was on the BBC, the voiceover leading to a judging would focus on the bakers' work being finished, saying how it will now be evaluated based on their skill and how well they met the brief. The voiceovers now, on Channel 4, focus on the judging (literally saying something along the lines of, "the bakers will now be judged by Prue and Paul"). There is a clear distinction Channel 4's producers have made, to mark that the show is now about whether or not the judges approve, not whether the brief was understood and executed well. On the BBC, it was irrelevant whether the judges liked a particular flavor, as long as the bake was well-made. Now, the bakers are expected to know the judges tastes and cater to them, which is frankly bullshit. A judge doesn't have to like a flavor to know whether or not it was executed well, ie. is it carrying a bake and was it meant to etc.

The judges have been turned into a brand. Cynically, Channel 4 knows that by building them up and focusing the show more on them, they can exploit their image more for profit. In the process, they've become much more biased and their own biases have come out as well. Most recently in the flaming dumpster fire that was Mexican Week, Paul Hollywood tried to intimidate a baker by telling them he had just gotten back from Mexico (which must have been a fruitful learning trip if he couldn't even learn how to pronounce pico de gallo correctly). Where do I even start with this? Here's an amateur baker from England (the show specifically casts middle and lower middle class bakers for the most part??) who likely can't afford trips to Mexico, who lives in a country with incredibly limited access to Mexican cuisine, who is expected not only to understand the cooking and baking traditions of a completely different culture but to do so well enough to play with it and do something creative with it. On top of which, one of the judges is now using his privilege of traveling halfway around the world as some kind of leverage, as if this were a bar that any amateur British baker could clear.

Prue, meanwhile, has openly asserted her biases against cultural flavors and textures, prioritizing her own personal preferences over them, as if they were in any way relevant to the skills and knowledge necessary to execute the tasks she sets to the bakers. She has also been consistently elitist, criticizing bakers for choices they made that were clearly informed by their experiences within income brackets that are too low and foreign for Prue to comprehend. She once had a go at a baker on a Christmas special because his Christmas dinner themed bake didn't have a turkey, even though it was clear from the stories he shared of his own Christmases that his family likely couldn't afford one. "It's not really Christmas dinner without a turkey," Prue said into the camera angrily while sitting on a chair made of live orphans and telling the ghost of Christmas Future to come back when he had another museum gift shop necklace for her to round out her collection.

The show is no longer about which baker has the best skills. It's become about which mortal can appease the gods of Mount Olympus, ie. the judges.

The Bakers:

Remember when the show was about them? Channel 4 doesn't! Because this is a reality competition show, the bakers are chosen both based on their skills, as well as cast-ability. They're cast as characters, distinct from each other, from different areas, age groups, ethnicities. All of them are amateurs. All of them are middle or lower middle class. They've ranged from college students to supermarket cashiers to prison wardens to scientists.

Something I noticed when the show moved to Channel 4 is that the baker who goes home in the first week is always wildly behind the rest in skills. I have no proof of this other than my eyeballs and deductive reasoning skills, but I think that Channel 4 deliberately casts a ringer each season who they think will be an easy send-off in the first week, just to get the audience's feet wet.

Anyway, like I said, this show used to be about the bakers - about them building skills and learning, and having walked into the tent with a self-taught foundation and understanding of the processes and chemical reactions involved in baking. When the show was on the BBC, the end of each round had some (often brief) moments of tension - will they finish in time? Will they get their bakes on the plate before time is up? Did they forget to add sugar to their batter and only remember at the last minute? In the end, they usually managed to finish and we'd all breathe a sigh of relief and think, yeah! You go, Bakers Who I'm Rooting For!

Now, on Channel 4, the end of round drama has been stretched to be so much longer that they've composed extra music for it. The bakers often seem out of their depth, whether because the instructions for the technical challenge are too vague (bake a lemon meringue pie??? As if anyone in the UK under the age of 60 has had one in the last decade???), or because they were expected to bake something that required a more than a basic foundation they weren't told of. Often it seems like they just aren't given enough time, a tactic used by reality competition shows to manipulate contestants into giving the cameras more dramatic content. On top of all this, the hosts get in their way, instead of helping them plate their bakes. As has been pointed out before, when everyone fails the challenge, the real failure lies with whoever set it.

In conclusion:

The show no longer exists to teach the bakers - and the audience - skills or knowledge. It now manipulates contestants for dramatic effect and prioritizes showing conflict over wholesome content. Channel 4 sees the bakers as social media content they can churn out season after season, and don't care about them because in a few months there'll be a new batch to exploit. Meanwhile, the judges are also out of their depth, co-opting recipes from other cultures and butchering them horrendously, while the camera gives them nothing but status as they hold bakers to the expectation that they learn how to make things very much the wrong way. If you saw any of the tweets about Mexican or Japanese week, or read my post on how Paul Hollywood isn't allowed to go near babka ever again, you'll understand.

So what would fix all this? Scrap the current judges and the hosts altogether. Bring back Mel and Sue, and replace the judges with expert bakers who have a love of their craft and want to share it with others. The draw of GBBO used to be its warmth and comfort - if Channel 4 isn't going to start its own version of Master Chef For Bakers, then it needs to stop trying to find a balance of how it can insert that vibe into GBBO. It can't. That's not a thing. Stop trying.

#GBBO #paul hollywood #prue leith #the great british bake off

12K notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 3 months

Text

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #asset soap #asset john soap mactavish #dub con #non con #rape

675 notes · View notes

haecien · 1 month

Text

Birthday Wishes X.MG

A/n - this fic is for my baby @mirxzii <33 HAPPY BIRTHDAAAYY !!!! I literally love u sm I'll try to get this out on march 20th or the start of march ! Also we are both march babies and your birthday is 6 days ahead of mine<33 (we are literally twins atp) I HOPE U ENJOY THE FIC <33 Also happy birthday to everyone else who is celebrating their birthdays on march mwa <3 (divider creds @/cafekitsune & @/saradika-graphics)

Also babka looks so good👁

Synopsis - Being an idol is tough, especially with your strict diet. You wanted to celebrate your birthday in peace but your company thought otherwise, but here comes your boyfriend to the rescue.

Genre/s - Idol!Minghao x idol!reader, fluff, secret relationship, tried to make this gender neutral so y/n is in a split group (kard situation just imagine whatever gender you wish to be! <3), also a mix between smau + written!

Warnings - Mentions of food, Strict(ish) diets mentioned, Cursing, Body shaming(?), use of petnames, If you find more warnings I should add lmk! <3

Wc - est 700 words?

You just got back from a fan meeting, you're so tired and exhausted from it. You were annoyed from how many aegyo requests you got today though.... but you're atleast happy you got tons of gifts from your fans.

" My God... this is a mountain of gifts, so many jewelry this time tho! — "

One of your bandmates butted in " Well... you did mention on a weverse post you been wanting to buy new jewelry, and it is your birthday soon anyways— " Oh, my, God.

Did you really just forget your own birthday? Your OWN birthday?

" I— I JUST FORGOT MY OWN BIRTHDAY. MAKES SENSE WHY I RECIVED SO MANY GIFTS I WHAA- " you again got cutted off but this time by your manager.

" Listen up, we have a busy schedule today and the next few days. And I know y/n its your birthday in a few days, we'll host a weverse live and all that— " " Will there be cake? "

" What? " " You heard me, will there be cake? "

If there was one way to describe you, its that you love your sweets very much. There are numerous compilations of just you eating and adoring sweets as your fans found your sweet tooth the most cutest thing ever.

" Y/n please tell me you're being serious right now— Some netizens are noticing you're putting on some weight. That's a risk to your image! " Your manager scolded you, leaving you and your band members to be silent for a bit.

Your bright smile quickly faded into a slight frown, you were about to say something but quickly closed your mouth.

The leader of your group stepped up and tried to break the tension, " Thank you manager-nim, let's talk a bit later since the members are tired from the fan meeting— I'll see you in the afternoon. "

Your leader bowed down, as the manager left, " Y/n, I know you're a bit upset but you need to know hes trying to look out for you. If they say you need to limit on the cake then you need too. "

You nodded, looking upset.

The leader sighed and looked at you, reaching for there wallet. " Lets buy some Babka, you said you were craving that right? " suddenly you wernt feeling sad, your eyes lightened up. You quickly nodded your head, the leader giggled at your expression and your band headed out of the building to buy foods and treats.

That was your boyfriend for you, the one and only Xu minghao. The public doesn't know you two are dating besides mutual friends and members. Really you both didn't expect you'd be dating each other, your first meeting of each other was scuffed.

It was just when you newly debuted a year after seventeens debut, you were both at a music show award and they won their first award. You rarely knew these guys but you felt so happy for them.

Later after the awardings you saw the same band backstage, you wanting to be friendly approached them. " Hi! I'm y/n from (group name) , I just wanted to congratulate you guys for your first win! " the member who was closest to you looked a bit confused but just gave you a polite smile and a simple thank you, it was a bit awkward so one of the other members from seventeen came forward.

"Thank you y/n, oh I'm seungkwan! That was the8, hes a bit shy and he is still learning Korean and English so bare with him please... " you laughed it off and said it was fine.

After that it felt like the universe just wanted to make you go together at every award show at this point, it was like you couldn't escape them.

So naturally you both expected to always see each other during award shows and sometimes even variety shows. Some of your fans started to notice it and made a little fun inside joke which you all talked about with each other.

When one group is absent the other gets confused, usually after the show you'd be frantically texting each other bombarding everyone with "WHERE ARE YOU" texts. Because of these interactions your groups were very close behind the cameras, so its expected the whole fan base would be shocked to see a picture of you and minghao walking together, alone.

The company cleared it up by saying how it wasn't really them, obviously that didn't work... but the issue died down and no one really remembers it. Non the less after all of that you both still managed to have one of the most best relationships you both have.

But, telling the members the news of you guys dating sent them absolutely going bat shit crazy. After that some members slipped in a little joke or hint about you two, though the fans suprisingly didn't notice.

Time skip — The day of your birthday.

The day has started and you open your weverse notifications and you were bombarded with happy birthday messages, all of your colleagues, members, friends, family all greeted you a happy birthday.

Your birthday live was canceled due to conflicting schedules and you not having the energy but you assured your fans about it saying how you'll do a live as quickly as possible.

Your birthday was great, it was still missing one key thing. Ofcourse the cake, you and your members had a little private party and your company strictly told your members to NOT give you any sweets or anything that might make you gain weight, all you could eat was stupid salads and like one cupcake.

What a killjoy.

You saw everyone else eating whatever they wanted, you envied how much some people didn't care about their weight. It made you feel sick over how people were just eating and stuffing their faces with all kinds of sweets, on your own fucking birthday.

After your little party you went back to your dorm, you were surprised to see your door unlocked though.

You swore it was locked an hour ago, what if someone went in? Shit worse a fan went inside and maybe installed cameras inside?

Or left a creepy note with cameras! Your heart was beating while you slowly entered your dorm, closing and locking the door. You heard a metal sound, its sounds like something fell from the kitchen.

Scared, you grabbed a umbrella that was beside your door and held onto it tightly. You ran towards the kitchen and just started swinging the umbrella around trying to hit whoever or whatever was there.

You heard a thud and looked up, " Fuck— HAO? "

Minghao rubbed his head and looked down at you, " Happy birthday? " he had cake frosting all over his face and hands, and chocolate on his lips.

You dropped the umbrella " Oh baby I'm so sorry for hitting you oh my— you look fucking messy by the way." Minghao rolled his eyes at you.

" Thank you genius. "

Minghao pulled you in his arms and gave you a little peck on the cheek, " Now your face is covered in chocolate too. "

" Ew, the chocolate tastes good but ew... "

"Oh boo hoo, I know you're happy to see me. "

Yeah, he was right. Of course you're happy to see him. The only thing that could cheer you up after having a shitty day was your boyfriend.

Even if sometimes your schedules are packed for the week you still both secretly met up on breaks, hey what can I say your companies are close.

You peaked behind minghao and saw a glimpse of a beautiful wrapped box before he blocked your view again, " Aha, not now love. Later you'll see what I have prepared for you. "

"Come on, you love me right? Can't I have a little peak? " you cupped his cheeks in your hands, shaking his head a bit. " Nope, that doesn't work on me. Even if it's your birthday. "

" It will ruin the surprise ! "

Minghao convinced you to go into your living room and put on your favorite show to keep you distracted for a bit.

— After awhile Minghao covered your eyes and lead you back into the kitchen again.

" Happy birthday my dearest, y/n. "

Your kitchen was beautifully decorated, the balloons in your favorite color, the smell of the candle filling the room. The snacks on the counter, freshly made just for you and him.

And most importantly, the strawberry cake on the table.

Your reaction made Minghao giggle, " I'm assuming you like it baby? " you felt like you were about to tear up, " Hao, I love it so much, its better than the party my members did. "

" Im glad you like it, I'm sorry if I don't have much for your gifts but here. "

He gave you an envelope, labeled " To my dearest, y/n "

You opened it to see a letter. You quickly read the letter ;

" My dearest, y/n.

No matter how old you're turning today, I wish I'd spend all of my lives seeing you. I want to grow old with you and stay by your side, I want you to be my first and last, the person I'd marry and have my future with.

I know things haven't been the most easiest but I'm so glad you're still with me til this day. You have dealt with me for so long, you helped me when I was at my lowest. I wish to repay you back with every cent I have.

But if I cant repay you with money then I shall repay you with my life.

Happiest of birthdays to you my love. "

TAGLIST — @slytherinshua , @weird-bookworm , @woozvc , @bangantokchy , @mayashu , @mirxzii , @glosskirt , @amxlia-stars , @addicsvt , @isabellah29 , @hrts4hanniehae

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #seventeen imagine #svt the8 #the8 x you #the8 x reader #seventeen the8 #the8 #minghao x reader #minghao fluff #seventeen minghao

121 notes · View notes

inkdrinkerworld · 1 year

Note

Remus x reader who is overtired and anxious about school

he’s comes into the house with measures steps as he hums along to the song playing in his headphones.

“starlight?” remus calls out to you softly, looking around the room as he tugs one side of his headphones off.

you’d told him that he should go to the store alone while you tried to crank out the last of your essay.

he’d stayed out an extra forty five minutes so that he didn’t accidentally interrupt the conclusion or analysis like last time.

now, he can’t spot you on the sofa or on the dinner table where you’d been when he left.

putting the butter and milk away, remus abandons the rest of the shopping to search for you.

“starlight, where’d you go?” he finds you in the bedroom shaking your hands as you pace the floor.

“baby?” he’s tentative in approaching you, hands outstretched towards you.

“what’s wrong?” there’s something so comforting about your boyfriend that when you turn and see him, your tears fall a little faster till you’re close enough to rub your face into his knitted sweater.

“starlight,” remus is worried. worried that you’ve been having an anxiety attack all by yourself for much longer than he’s been home and that you’ve still not said a word yet.

still, his arms wrap around your shaking shoulders and he sets his chin atop the mess of your hair.

“talk to me, lovebug,” his sweet names make you melt and you sigh.

“it’s all stupid, and it doesn’t make a lick of sense remus.” your words are loud enough that remus hears and his coo in response makes you slump even further into him.

“want me to take a look? we always figure it out better together,” you sigh and remus takes that as a ‘no.’

he doesn’t take it personally which you’re thankful for.

“maybe we can bake two babkas and then you can get back to it?” he suggests instead and you raise your head.

remus feels the innate need to kiss your reddened nose and splotchy cheeks, and with every ounce of restraint he has he manages to curd the need.

“really?” your glassy eyes and pouty lips crumble the restraint though and as he responds, “yes really, starlight.” his lips are pressed into every part of your face they can touch.

#remuslupin #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x black!reader

290 notes · View notes

carlos-in-glasses · 7 months

Text

An update to the list!

I'm blown away by the fact that anyone would give their precious time to my fics - I want you to know that I always strive for it to be time well-spent. Thank you, thank you. I'll update this list as more fics are posted. Running from most recently posted to the first❤️:

Search And Rescue - (15k, E) - On their first Valentine's Day as husbands, Carlos surprises TK with a trip to adopt a retired police dog.

Where All This Love Comes From - (107k, E) - TK reflects on meeting Carlos after years of addiction and self-destruction, while Carlos seeks closure by uncovering two unknowns: The identity of his father’s killer, and how his father truly felt about Carlos as his son.

You Can Leave Your Hat On - (6k, E) - The heating breaks in the loft so TK and Carlos find another way to stay warm.

Suddenly, in the Silence – (10k, E) - TK wonders if he's being haunted by Gabriel, while Carlos questions his faith.

Sweet Dreams and Flying Machines – (14k, E) - A coda for 3x08 that also explores how 9/11 impacted TK and Carlos as children.

Release the Hand to Relax the Animal – (15k, E) - TK and Carlos have tantric sex.

When Soulmates Swim – (53k, E) - A season 1 canon compliant AU. TK and Carlos find each other and themselves when they each take up swimming.

The Centre of the Maze – (21k, M) - TK and Carlos have never been on the easy path, but all have lead to the wedding.

With Infinity Folded Into It – (8k, M) - After TK proposes, Carlos remembers the first time they said I love you. And he bakes a babka. Sort of.

Fire Island – (12k, M) - TK and Carlos visit the legendary Fire Island and learn from an older couple about life at the height of the AIDS crisis.

The Light of Our Life – (2k, T) - A coda for 4x12. Carlos buys TK a bearded dragon.

The Heart Behind the Shield – (34k, E) - A coda for 2x08 and 4x04 combined. Carlos and TK work through their kidnapping traumas and Carlos and Gabriel share an important moment.

Afterglow of a Supernova – (13k, M) - Carlos and TK have dinner with Carlos’ high school crush and his wife. Insecurities rise and jealousy ensues in an unexpected way.

Man to Man – (15k, E) - A coda for 2x12. In 2010, Carlos comes out to his parents. In 2021, in the aftermath of the housefire, Carlos feels more empowered to talk to Gabriel and embrace his life with TK.

Chasers – (13k, E) - A coda for 3x13. TK is alone with Cooper, Carlos is alone with his thoughts. Both recall times they’ve chased the next high, other men, or each other.

The Ruins of Wonderland – (14k, E) - The severe winter storm doesn’t happen as forecast and Austin receives a manageable snowfall – without TK plunging into a frozen lake. Nancy’s 126 hang goes ahead. TK attends, but so does Carlos…

In Your Adorable Glasses – (4k, T) - Carlos is struggling to find the perfect poem for the wedding; TK tries to help but sits on his glasses.

Wrestling Angels – (8k, M) - Carlos wishes he could invite his seventeen-year-old self to his wedding to TK.

A Naked House – (8k, M) - TK, Carlos and the 126 attend a murder mystery event in which a real murder takes place and TK vanishes…

Teardrop on the Fire – (11k, E) - TK discovers a birthday card Carlos had written for him during their breakup.

Bath Time and Black Magic – (7k, E) - Carlos is naturally upset after being kidnapped by a satanic cult, so he and TK have a bubble bath and talk about it.

A Rainy Day in Austin – (5k, T) - A 3x15 coda. TK and Carlos drive to the greenbelt to release Lou.

Sensitivity – (5k, M) - TK opens up to Carlos about his past, and Carlos finds himself falling for him even harder.

#My fic #cig fic #tarlos fanfic #fic masterlist #tarlos

105 notes · View notes

alonetimelover · 1 year

Text

Easter Monday

pairing: Harry Styles x slavic(polish)!fem!reader

summary: Harry nad YN are spending their first Easter together, embracing their cultural differences. To celebrate Easter Monday Harry found something very interesting on the internet, hoping to make YN happy, he decided to surprise her with it - id didn't go as planned.

word count: ~1,3k (a little baby)

a/n: so i found out about this holiday in Poland and decided that it would make a fun, fluffy piece for the slavic!reader trope. if i got something wrong, please do tell me!

(another piece of wiriting with a slavic! reader is here > BRITs awards <)

masterlist

When Harry met YN, he promised himself to learn about Polish mores, some words to understand at least a part of what YN was talking about with her family back home and Polish food. Being a pescatarian excluded him from trying quite a few national dishes but YN found enough alternatives for him to eat. He loved it (or so he told YN).

Here he was, on Easter Sunday evening, researching Polish mores during Easter. For the first time in their relationship, they decided to spend those holidays together at Harry’s home in London.

The cultural differences were noticeable. YN didn’t grow up with Egg hunting on Sunday morning, but with going to church on Saturday to have food sacred. On Sunday morning there was an Easter breakfast - eggs (so many colourful eggs), the sour rye soup (yes, soup for breakfast) served in a round bread bowl, variable meat on the cold platter and, most importantly, cakes - mazurek and babka. Harry felt that he’d especially love those cakes.

Harry growing up didn’t do much for Easter. He enjoyed sleeping in for a few days, hunting eggs on Sunday and then going on with his life. His family never attached much importance towards Easter - they used those days for family time, hosting board games’ tournaments with a feast happening in the dining room.

So saying that YN’s way of celebrating was a shock for Harry was easily not enough.

“You want to celebrate the way that I’m used to?” She asked him two months before Easter.

“Yes.” He kissed her knuckles. “I want to spend it the way you always do. We’ll paint those colourful eggs and then eat this big breakfast.”

“Pisanki, those are the colourful eggs. And that big breakfast is almost not edible for you.”

“Because of meat?” YN nodded her head. “Well, then we’ll go to the local market and buy some plant based alternatives. Polish Easter breakfast with a twist. What do you say?”

“I love it.”

That was what they had done.

Harry invited his mother, sister and her fiancé to celebrate with them. All of them sat down with brushes and paint, and decorated the eggs. YN prepared the breakfast - with plant based sausage, and with two cakes baked just the way her grandma did, while Harry was responsible for taking care of the guests, saying “I’m so sorry, but I know, I’ll just ruin whatever you’re doing there, my love."

Everybody enjoyed breakfast, agreeing that soup being present was a mistake, but wasn’t untasty. Cakes did a furore - Anne asked for a recipe and Gemma promised to beg for them constantly. YN was happy that people appreciated her culture.

And when people left, just mere two hours ago, Harry and YN tidied up in the house and she went to sleep, he, on the other hand sat in front of his computer, searching. ‘What Poles do on Easter Monday?’ was a question tapped into a search bar. After clicking the first website linked, with a shock appearing on his face, eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word read, Harry stood up and went to the bedroom. He needed to visit a park tomorrow’s morning to get what was needed.

The next day YN woke up to a cold bed, which was more than expected - Harry was an early bird (woke up as early as 5 am) when YN liked to sleep until at least 6:30. After doing her morning stretches and going to the bathroom, she moved downstairs to start on the breakfast. Harry usually waited for her, so they could eat together and talk about their plans for a day.

“Harry! Baby! I’m making coffee, you want some?” She called into an (probably) empty house.

While not getting an answer, she went to the kitchen starting Harry’s fancy coffee machine. She needed caffeine.

It was strange that Harry didn’t leave any note, saying where he had gone. Nothing on the fridge, or under a fruit basket and no text either. She started to get worried when halfway through her first meal of the day Harry’s plate was still full and slowly getting cold.

Over the speakers, YN listened to Lana Del Rey’s album Ultraviolence, singing silently under her nose. She didn’t hear the back door slowly open and close. She didn’t hear the steps nearing her body. Most importantly, she didn’t hear the movement of the bucket full of water being directed at her.

“Ah!” She screeched when the cold water covered her whole body. From the top of her head to her toes, there was no dry spot. She was soaked and not in a good way.

“Happy śmigus-dyngus day!” Harry screamed, unconsciously murdering the language with a smile on his face, and started to hit YN with pussy willow branches.

“Harry! Are you out of your mind?” YN asked, trying to simultaneously flick the water from her face and catch the branch that had been continuously hitting her upper arm. “Harry, stop it!”

“What?” He asked, confused, stopping mid-air. “Why did you stop me? It’s a tradition!”

The ligt bulb switched on in YN's mind. She understood, for a moment looking at Harry with an open mouth and big eyes. “ Oh God!” She finally laughed. “Oh my God!”

“What - what is going on?”

“Harry, did you - did you find about this day on the internet?”

“Yes, obviously. Where would I get information about something like this from?” He still couldn’t comprehend the tradition that he was taking part of. What was the point of it?

“Maybe me. Someone that actually celebrates it?” YN prompted.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Harry said quietly, putting down the bucket and moving around the kitchen to get YN a clean tower.

“Listen - thank you -” she responded, after getting the towel, “- people don’t do it like this anymore.” She began drying herself off. “There is no hitting with branches. And not only boys are throwing water - it’s not gender-driven.”

Harry sat down in front of YN, getting sad.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, clasping her hands in his. “I - I just wanted to do something that would make you feel like people around you know what you celebrate and do on specific holidays. ‘Supposed to be a surprise. Didn’t work. I’m sorry.” he kissed her knuckles, looking at her like a lost puppy. His eyes big and a little pout present on his lips.

“And I appreciate it so much.” She pecked his pout away, making him smirk. “These holidays, you've made me feel like I was back home. it means the most to me. Just didn’t like getting bitten up with a pussy willow.”

“Not a fan?” Harry’s smirk getting more daring.

“Not really. When it comes to Easter Monday, I’ve always just splashed people with water and called it a day. Well, when my cousins and I were younger, we used to just pour water on each other from the garden hose. It was entertaining. But always doing it outside of the house.” YN gave Harry a look towards the wet floor. “If not, we were cleaning not only the water but the whole house.”

“Am I going to be doing the same?” Harry asked with the same smirk from before, he enjoyed it.

“Yep. Absolutely.” YN stood up rapidly and moved to the closet to give Harry a mop. “Chop, chop!”

With a laugh, Harry gripped the mop and started cleaning. Unfortunately for him, the bucket he used was voluminous, and the amount of water on the floor was significant. While looking for the bucket to wring out the excess water, Harry lost his focus. Suddenly, his whole body started shivering from the cold liquid dripping from his head and down to the floor.

“Happy śmigus-dyngus day!” YN laughed at Harry.

Quickly enough, they both were running around the backyard - most clothes discarded in a run - under the rain of water from the garden hose. YN felt like a careless child again, and Harry decided just then he always wanted to see her that happy.

Sometimes misinformation on the internet could lead to good times, he thought. But only sometimes.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #slavic!reader #polish!reader #harry styles

190 notes · View notes

lazer-cannon-deth-sentence · 1 year

Text

bitches be like "this is my comfort character" and the character is either literal embodiment of death or death's very emissary

#me im bitches #babka talks #death the wolf #john wick #LISTEN #OK you don't have to listen

113 notes · View notes

emisprocrastinatingbywriting · 2 months

Text

Alone and Forsaken

Chapter Summary:

You wake in a place that you've never been with a handsome stranger asleep in the corner of the room. After an interesting first encounter, you become more acquainted with your host.

Warnings: Angst/comfort, talks of past abuse, religious trauma, Joel is hard on himself as per always, brief mention of smut, A/B/O Dynamics

A/N: Hey guys! Here is chapter 2, as always let me know what you think :) - Side note, if you do ever get the chance to eat babka then please do. That shit is bussin

Chapter 2/20

Chapter 2: First Encounters

- Joel -

When Sarah was a baby Joel remembers standing over her crib for hours each night. She was so small, so delicate, and she only had him. Sarah’s mom split only a couple of months after her birth, Joel didn’t blame her. They were young and dumb, quick fucks sprinkled here and there when the need became too much. Hands pawing desperately at clothes in the dark corner of whatever dingy bar Tommy had dragged him to, late night hookups in the cab of his truck, quickies in the host’s bedroom at some party, frenzied days spent together locked away from the world as need coursed through their veins. Even during his rut, with his mind centered around nothing but pure instinct, he could never bring himself to bite down on that spot on her neck that beckoned him.

Joel never introduced her to his friends or family, and she didn’t introduce him to hers either, that’s not what their relationship was for. So when she went radio silent for a couple months after a sloppy makeout sesh in the garage at Tommy’s SuperBowl party, he didn’t really think anything of it. Imagine Joel’s surprise when his booty call showed up at his door five months later with a rounded belly and bags under her eyes.

He dropped everything. The guilt he felt for not being there for his pup, even in the womb, shredded him to pieces. He did everything he could for the mother of his child, taking out a mortgage to buy a nice house for them to live in as a family, waiting on her hand and foot, even using up all of his sick days so he could be home for if she needed so much as a blanket from the other room. Protect, provide, protect, provide, protect, provide - these words crashed against the inside of his skull, pulling him into a sea of instinct. An instinct that blinded him from seeing what was truly in front of him, until it was too late.

Sarah’s mom had tried, Joel would give her that. She used all the strength she could to connect to the baby that had her hair, her nose, her chin. But this wasn’t the life she wanted and Joel most certainly was not the alpha she had pictured herself with. Slowly, Joel watched her draw into herself, dark circles framing her eyes and a frown morphing her face into something unrecognizable. He felt her slowly begin to detach from them, distancing herself until Joel couldn’t remember the last time she had even been in the same room as Sarah.

The night she left, Joel had woken to the sound of Sarah fussing in her crib. Barely cognitive, he had gotten up and sleepily shuffled down the hall to Sarah’s room, only to come face to face with her mother. Coat and shoes on, with her purse over her shoulder as she turned to look at Joel. With her eyes red rimmed and nose running slightly, she had tried to say something but faltered before looking back down at Sarah again. He knew then, and it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would have.

“Honey, it’s alright. I’ve got this, I’ve got her,” Joel had said to her softly, feeling the tension in the air break as the words washed over both of them.

And she had left, never to return, which Joel was okay with. He had his sweet girl who he let paint his fingernails despite the ribbing he would get from Tommy over it, the girl that he would read stories to every night - always changing the ending so that she never got bored, the girl who as a preteen somehow dragged him to a Christina Aguilera concert - which led to another round of teasing from his baby brother. He would gladly do it all. Sarah’s mother wasn’t his mate. He had no claim over her and, as much as their beautiful baby was the air that he breathed, the role of mother had sucked the life out of the woman. Joel didn’t wish that on anyone, so he let her go.

Still, being a single parent was no easy task and Joel oftentimes found himself sitting in the rocker in Sarah’s room as she slept, terrified that something would happen to her. Even when she got older and became more independent, some nights he would lie awake in his room for hours before creeping down the hallway, standing in her doorway and watching her breathe as she slept. Joel would let the aroma of strawberries and vanilla wash over him, bathing him in waves of tranquility. His pup was safe and sleeping peacefully, he had provided, he was good. After pulling the blankets up over her shoulder or carefully brushing her curls from her face, needing to fuss over her even in her sleep, Joel would groggily drift down the hallway and fall into a deep sleep every time.

With Ellie it was different, dodging danger for months on end, but the result was the same. After Tess died he found himself sleeping less, staying up while she curled up in her sleeping bag, senses peeled for the first sign of danger. With Ellie, the smell of cinnamon and ginger was like a jolt to his nervous system.

He would pace around as she slept, letting his instincts go into overdrive and mumbling to himself like a madman, “Can’t fuck this up again, she can’t d… FUCK, no shut up. Must protect, must keep my pup safe, can’t let it happen again, I’m going to fuck this up again, I’m going to…”

Joel had never kicked himself harder for the time he had fallen asleep after laughing at one of Ellie’s corny jokes. Sure, Henry and Sam ended up being friendly, but that was no excuse. It had been the first dreamless sleep he had in years. He had never told Ellie that, he’s not sure he ever would have but he wishes he could now. He wishes for a lot of things.

After Salt Lake City, he felt untethered from reality. Joel floated in limbo with nothing but his memories to guide him for four years, memories that he hated to admit; were fading every damn day. Everyday he felt like he was trying to do his best impression of what he thought a normal man would be like. Realistically Joel was just waiting out the clock until his last breath, hoping everyday that it would hurry the hell up. He assumed that he would never cross anyone else’s path again, except for maybe Tommy. He had even hoped for it, but now here you were.

Sleeping peacefully in his bed, hands clasped under your chin as small puffs of air nudge the hair that is stuck to your face. Your scent, smoother now and oh so sweet, soaking into the sheets - HIS sheets. Joel longs to step forward, to softly push your hair back and take a wet cloth to the grime on your face but he refrains. Joel is a stranger to you and, despite his volatile past and general crankiness, he doesn’t want to scare a lost omega. He might be an asshole, but he has never been THAT type of asshole. Plus, he knows this reaction is just a biological response. Your despair has activated a part of his brain that he had thought died with Ell - no. He wouldn’t think about that right now, not when you needed him.

After carrying you from the river he had stood in the entryway for a solid ten minutes, unsure of how to proceed. Joel felt uneasy with leaving you in the living room, wary of the springs in the old couch that always dug into his ass. He couldn’t even think about letting you sleep on the ground. Hell, he would let you use him as a mattress before he did that. Joel thought briefly about putting you in the bunk bed but he quickly shook those thoughts away. He hadn’t opened that door since his first day here and he did not plan on breaking that streak today. The only option was for Joel to put you in his bed but he hesitated, dreading it. He didn’t want you to think he wanted something from you, that he would ever take advantage of your vulnerability. He was also slightly irked at the thought of you invading his space, undoubtedly saturating the space with your scent.

While Joel stood in silent contemplation you were none the wiser, cuddling into his chest and rubbing your nose on his shirt. Unbeknownst to him, you dreamt of lounging in the sun. Tendrils of his musk wrapped around your brain and pulled you deeper into relaxation. Joel was still standing there, wondering if he should just wake you up, when he heard it. Looking down, he watched as you practically smothered yourself with his shirt, pushing your nose into his chest and purring in your sleep. Hearing you flipped a switch in Joel’s brain, the answer becoming as clear as day to him. With a recharged sense of purpose, Joel carries you to his bed and settles you on his comforter. Easing the tattered boots off your feet, he practically swaddles you in his blankets. Besides a small noise of protest as he puts your body down, you remain unconscious while he fusses over you. He leaves the room only for a moment, tearing through the living room for more quilts to throw on top of your already buried frame.

Satisfied for the moment, Joel sits on the armchair by the window in his room. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, his mind is completely blank. He knows that he is going to freak out about this at some point. He can feel the suppressed panic attack stirring behind his ribs but, almost as if you can sense it in your sleep, your sweet aroma ripples out to him and pulls him deeper into the fog. With lavender and peppermint coating the back of his throat, he lets the in and out of your breathing lure him into an almost hypnotic state.

For a moment Joel remembers when he and Tommy were pups and their parents took them to Crystal Beach in Austin. He remembers the sound of the waves and laughing with Tommy as they chased each other along the sand, their mother calling to them to be gentle and cringing as they tackled each other to the ground. Joel remembers his father’s laugh as he wrapped his arms around his wife, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh and swat him away. He also remembers the distraction leaving an opening for Tommy to launch himself into Joel’s side, knocking him into the water. He remembers smiling so hard that day that his face hurt the next morning. Joel huffs out a soft chuckle, realizing that he hasn’t thought about that day for the last twenty years. Feeling almost delirious, he closes his eyes. Listening to the waves in his head from that day, with your presence easing the tension in his aching muscles, Joel drifts off.

-You-

When you were seventeen years old, Miriam had taken you and Jake to the lake near camp to teach you to swim. She had grumbled for years about how ridiculous it was that nobody had ever taught you. Miriam had waited, carefully choosing a time where she knew Josiah would be off on a hunt and your mother would be sullenly kneeling in the chapel, saying prayers that you were beginning to understand meant nothing to her.

With you presenting as an omega a couple years earlier, the noose had tightened around your neck considerably. Although you never really had friends before, Miriam and Rachel barely making the list of people you were allowed to interact with despite the fact that they were both pushing seventy, now you were basically banished to the house. Jake had presented a year before you, another omega, but this didn’t change your parent’s worries. Sure, he couldn’t impregnate you but he could certainly corrupt you in other ways. In a way he did, passing you notes in chapel with drawings of Josiah in compromising positions, smuggling you unapproved books that his aunt had stashed under her bed away from prying eyes, confiding in you whenever he could get you away from your mother about his secret kisses with a red haired omega boy that he thought was handsome, collapsing into your arms sobbing when that boy was forced to bond with the alpha Josiah had chosen for him. In a way they were right to worry about Jake, as he fueled the silent resentment that clawed its way further up your throat with each passing day.

With both of your parents indisposed, Miriam had snuck the two of you out the back gate. You remember Rachel, being on patrol, giving her mate an incredulous look as she approached.

“Are you fucking serious right now Mimi?,” the alpha had hissed as Miriam approached her.

Unfazed, Miriam had sauntered over to her mate and playfully shaken her, “Come on Rach, they’re just pups. Let them have some fun, just this once? Pleeeeeease?”

Scoffing and shaking her head, Rachel had let the three of you through with a strict demand to come back at the first sign of trouble. Although you could tell she was wary of allowing three omegas out completely alone, she knew Miriam could handle herself.

The day was hot, with the sun beating down on your face and causing sweat to drip down your back. Even so, it was the perfect day. The water was cool and Miriam had been patient as she showed you the basics, managing to get a solid doggy paddle out of you before it was time to go back. Jake had spent the day swimming circles around the both of you but you didn’t mind, your dreams of being able to keep your head above water were fulfilled and that was enough for today.

It was only on your way back that you noticed the redness of your skin, the heat radiating from the burn that covered most of your body. Although you had made it back to camp without alerting anyone, your mother immediately noticed the sunburn that stained your features. After giving you a good walloping on your already stinging backside, she had sent you off to bed without any supper. The next morning you had woken up feeling like death itself, with your body aching from the beating, your head pounding and stomach growling, and your sunburn making you feel downright feverish.

“Worth it,” you had said to yourself before hauling yourself out of bed to tend to your chores.

Waking in the bed of the stranger who had lifted you from the riverbank, you felt pretty much the same as you did that morning. Your body was raw, a dull throb present in all of your muscles and head, as well as your stomach panging with hunger. Above all you felt hot, too hot. Rousing yourself further, you felt the sweat pouring down your face and the weight of what felt to be approximately ten blankets swallowing you. Kicking the offending heap off of your frame, you cautiously looked around the room.

The walls were bare, save for a drawing of a pink butterfly that someone had pinned to the wall. There was a worn joke book on the bedside table next to you, along with a pair of chunky reading glasses. Eyes adjusting to soft light shining through the window, you finally see him. You freeze for a moment, heart rising to your throat as you examine him.

He looks… handsome, you think. You have never thought that about someone before, but as you observe how the orange glow of the dying day makes his skin appear almost golden, you decide that he certainly fits the criteria. He has a scar on the side of his face, a strong nose, a mustache that tickles his upper lip and whiskers smattered over his cheeks. His hair is slightly disheveled, graying curls tousled on his head as he slumps in the chair, his deep breaths fanning out over his crossed arms. Arms that threaten to burst out of the confines of the flannel he wears, muscles bulging under the fabric in a way that makes your throat dry and your heart beat a little harder.

You can smell him, his woodsy scent inviting you to relax but you fight against the pull of your instincts. You know that he is an alpha based on his size alone, you know that you are in the middle of nowhere, and you know the position you are in. Steeling yourself, you gently creep out of the bed and tiptoe to the bedroom door. Looking back once more at the gorgeous man, you ease the door open and slip out as quietly as possible.

Moving forward into the space, you find a well lived home. Shelves adorned with books and carvings someone had made, a couch that looks like it has seen better days supplemented with ratty throw pillows, even a guitar sits in the corner. You pause for a moment, unsure of what to do. Quite frankly, you had assumed that he was a part of a larger group of alphas and that you would have to make a mad dash for the front door to escape your fate. You had been warned about groups like those, but you breathe a sigh of relief as you only smell the sandalwood and bergamot that pours off of the stranger in the other room. Looking to the front door for a moment, you begin to weigh your options as a growl comes from your stomach and leaves you groaning. You need food and you need it now. Gliding as quietly as you can into the kitchen, you poke through a few cabinets before finding a hidden treasure.

“Bingo,” you whisper as your shaking hands pull the box of chocolates from behind bottles of pickled vegetables on the bottom shelf.

As you tear into the ancient box, drool threatening to slide out of your mouth with the prospect of sweets, you wonder if chocolate goes bad. Fuck it, you think, I’m gonna find out today aren’t I? Cramming the first piece of chocolate into your mouth, your eyes roll back into your head at the taste. It’s a little chalky with how old it is, but the taste is still the same and it makes you feel like you might cry for a second before you dig in again. You manage to finish most of the box before a voice makes you freeze in place and straightens your spine.

“Whatcha got there sweetheart?,” the voice drawls, a distinct southern twang making your palms sweat for some reason.

You turn cautiously, eyes rounding as you take in the man that had previously been sleeping in the chair, now suddenly right behind you. Asleep, he had seemed a lot more harmless. Awake, he was a wall of muscle that towered over you. His face was no longer softened with sleep, instead now he looked surly and mean. He looked like he could snap you in two without even breaking a sweat, and suddenly you felt nauseous.

As if he can sense the change in your demeanor he steps further back, his hands raised slightly and palms faced outward, “Hey, hey, woah there sweet pea. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Relax, you’re okay, you’re safe. My name is Joel, what’s yours?”

Your knees wobble slightly as you look at him. “Joel,” you whisper quietly to yourself, almost like a prayer.

“That’s right darling, Joel,” he affirms cautiously, hanging back as he tries to gauge your response and failing. Joel tries to meet your eyes but you keep looking away.

You tell him your name while looking at the wall behind him, saying it so quietly that he almost misses it. You try and fail to stop yourself from crying but tears begin to wet your cheeks as you stand in front of the alpha. You feel like you’re waiting for a judge to hand you a death sentence. Joel moves towards you carefully, hands still up, as if he is one of those bad guys in the cop shows your dad used to watch. As if you are the detective and he’s the criminal about to turn himself in. It would have made you laugh if you weren’t so damn terrified. You expect him to grab you, to drag you down the hall as you kick and scream for him to stop. What you don’t expect is for him to stop in front of you and take off his flannel, holding it out for you to grab. You raise your eyebrows, finally meeting his eyes as you size him up. They are nice eyes, more expressive than you think he would like them to be. While his face seems to be stuck on a grimace, his eyes are brown and remind you of a puppy dog.

“It’s uh, well you don’t have to take it but I’ve heard it helps for omegas when they - I mean, shit honey, I don’t really know what I’m even talking about but uh... Just take the damn thing, would ya?,” Joel says, getting more impatient the longer he stands there holding the fabric out to you.

You step forward and snatch the flannel from his hands, scurrying back even further than before and knocking your backside against the drawers behind you. You look down at the worn green flannel, still warm from his body. Or maybe that was just the warmth you felt holding it, feeling calmness invade your senses with this gift. You lean forward, diving face first into the fabric and drawing long breaths in through your nostrils before putting it on to let the feeling surround you. It feels almost like he is surrounding you, like his big arms are holding you close to his chest, like he’s leaning down and brushing his lips against - STOP. Nope, not gonna do this, definitely not gonna do this now, definitely not going to have these kinds of thoughts around a literal STRANGER, you chastise yourself as you try to pull yourself out of lala land. Looking back up at Joel, he looks a little red in the face as he watches you. Was he… flustered? No, definitely not. He’s probably just uncomfortable with the strange woman nearly foaming at the mouth while snuffling at his sweaty shirt. He crosses his arms over his chest, burly arms now on full display with only a white t-shirt covering him. He cocks his hip, watching you watch him. You realize Joel is waiting for you to say something.

You don’t know why you say it. Maybe because you’re nervous and desperate to cut the tension in the room, but the first thing you manage to say to him clearly is, “I really like chocolate.”

A beat passes. Joel looks at the chocolate smudged on your face, then down at the nearly empty box, then back up at your face.

“I can see that,” he deadpans.

You fidget as you meet his eyeline, trying to discern whether he is angry with you or not. Instead of rage, all you see is curiosity, maybe even a hint of playfulness hidden somewhere in there as well.

“I’m sorry, I was so hungry and I know I shouldn’t steal. Father Josiah would have my head if he knew I had raided your cupboards sir but I haven’t eaten in so long and I -,” you babble until he cuts you off.

“I ain’t mad, keep the rest for all I care. Just don’t be eating all my peanuts, I traded good meat for those,” he says, brushing past you to root through the fridge.

You stand there frozen as you watch him begin to pull stuff out to cook, unsure of what to do with yourself. Do you just leave now? Does he want you to stay? Can you stay? Why is he not saying anything? What does he want from you? Feeling your discomfort, Joel turns back around. He looks at you with a gaze that feels almost reverent, a gaze that has you shifting all of your focus on him immediately.

Joel’s eyes brush over your features as he says, “I’m gonna say this one more time Omega, and I need you to listen this time. You. Are. Safe. We can talk after you’ve had a shower and something more than sugar in your belly, okay?.”

His voice is lower as he speaks, almost a growl, which sends tingles from your core that radiate out to your fingertips. Without even thinking about it, your shoulders relax and you’re nodding at him as he hums in approval.

“Good girl, now go get washed up. There’s soap and towels under the sink in my bathroom. I’ll leave some clothes out for ya on the bed. When you come out we’ll eat and figure this out darling. Don’t worry about nothing. Go on now, get,” Joel commands, turning back to cooking.

Good girl. Those two words hook into the depths of your chest and steer you back down the hall to fulfill the task he had set out for you. Stumbling out of the kitchen, you pause in the hall as you catch a glimpse of another door. Hesitantly, you reach out and grasp the handle before his words yank you back towards the ensuite bathroom.

Grabbing the soap underneath the counter and turning the shower handle, you’re pleasantly surprised to find warm water gracing your filthy hands. The camp you had lived in before didn’t even have warm water. Hell, even the QZ showers were freezing, but that was mainly because the warm water only ever graced the homes of those low enough to work for FEDRA. You don’t even remember the last time you felt warm water like this, but you think maybe it was before the outbreak. A distant memory rises from the depths of your mind of you splashing your father as he tries to get you out of the bath before bed, his laugh bouncing off the walls and frizzy hair weighed down with soapy water.

You use all your strength to push the memory of your dad away and step under the warm spray, sighing as you let the heat soothe your tender muscles. You stand there and try to forget again as other, less kind, memories threaten to come to the surface.

- Joel -

Joel uses all of his energy to focus on the task at hand, cutting the vegetable and slathering the meat with spices, throwing everything into a pan and boiling some rice in the pot beside it. Soon, the air is filled with the aroma of the makeshift stir fry he’s trying to create but it doesn’t make him feel any better. He feels crazy.

Why the hell did Joel give you his flannel? He doesn’t even know. It’s true that he had heard that the smell of an alpha could soothe a distressed omega, a faint recollection from a health class that he would have attended nearly 40 years ago. Still, he definitely didn’t think it through. That much was obvious as he stood there and watched you not only accept his gift, but cherish it so openly in front of him. Joel had to grit his teeth, jaw popping to keep the groan that was threatening to spill out of his mouth. His cock, long since forgotten between his legs, twitched awake in his pants and he wished the ground would swallow him whole. You had looked up at him so sweetly and Joel almost forgot how to breathe. But then, after adorably establishing the fact that you liked the chocolate you had been scarfing down, you began frantically apologizing.

Joel had to stop himself from bounding forward and grabbing your small face in his hands, from commanding you to stop apologizing, from imploring you to never apologize to him ever again for something so trivial. You could have all the chocolate you wanted, you could take everything he owned and then some, he didn’t care. Couldn’t you see that? Joel would happily pluck out his own eyes if that’s what you wanted, if it would make you content. He would - wait what? Fuck, he thought, no, no, no, what the hell is happening to me?

Somehow even more flustered than before, Joel had squared his jaw and commanded you to relax, to go wash up so that you two could talk. Once again, being the idiot he was, Joel had thought that that was a good decision. But as he watched your body relax in response to his words, and more importantly how you reacted when he let those two words slip from his lips, he wanted to find the nearest body of water and walk directly into it. Good girl?! Seriously dude? Come on, get it together.

You were so… jumpy. So much so that it made Joel’s blood itch as he pondered what had made you that way, WHO had made you that way. Nonetheless, you had been soothed by his scent, his command, his words. Now he was making you dinner, trying to pull recipes from far off memories so that you have the best meal possible with what little options he had. You needed real food, you deserved something delicious, he needed to provide that for you, it would make you happy, it would make you feel safe, he would keep you safe, he would - Joel groans as he stops that line of thinking before he gets too deep, before he thinks about how he could make you happy, before he thinks about how he could make you feel good, before he thinks about what you would taste like if he pulled your panties to the side and slid his mouth against your-

“FUCK,” Joel shouts as the water boils over and scalds his hand, pulling him from those thoughts. Serves him right, he thinks to himself as takes the pot off the burner and berrates himself for being such a perv.

Running a hand through his hair and willing the bulge in his jeans to go down, he tries to focus on other things as he strains the rice and leaves the rest to simmer. Moving into the bedroom, he hears the shower running. He can smell your scent mixing with the spiciness of his soap, and he tries to think of anything to keep himself from going insane. The time Tommy accidentally sacked him so hard that he almost threw up during a game of backyard football, the time he watched an eight year old Sarah fall out of a tree head first and thought he might die of a heart attack, the time he got stabbed in front of Ellie, the time he got grilled by Tommy’s terrifying wife after Salt Lake City, anything to keep you off his mind.

Relaxing slightly, Joel tears through the closet to find the clothes he had shoved behind the hangers four years prior. He didn’t think he’d ever need the women’s clothes he had found in the drawers that day, but now he’s grateful he did. Laying out some choices for you, he hears the water stop. Heart beating quicker now, Joel darts out of the bedroom as fast as he can, wanting to give you privacy but also wanting to save himself from a sight that he knew would bring him to his knees.

- You -

Feeling like a brand new person, you dry off before wrapping yourself in a dark towel. Stepping into the bedroom with steam billowing out from behind you, you find a small pile of women’s clothes on the bed. You’re surprised, a pinch of jealousy running through you for a moment before you tamp it down. You have to remind yourself that you have no claim over Joel.

Sifting through the pile, you land on a pair of soft black sweatpants, the side of one leg boasting some women’s volleyball team in thick red letters. After shucking them on, you pick through the shirts for a moment but none of them appeal to you. From the corner of your eye, you spy a hamper filled with unwashed clothes. Creeping up to it, you snatch a soft looking brown t-shirt from the top. Hesitating for a moment, you pull it on over your head. Joel wouldn’t mind, would he? He had been the one to give you that flannel, this isn’t really any different. Right? Shoving your feet into the thick gray socks Joel left for you, you step out into the hall.

The delicious smell of whatever Joel is cooking makes your stomach growl. You feel like one of those cartoon characters being lifted and carried over to a windowsill by the steam billowing off of a freshly baked pie. Turning into the kitchen, you find Joel putting the food into bowls and mumbling to himself.

“It smells good,” you say quietly, wanting to alert him of your presence but he seems unphased, like he already knew you were behind him.

Joel hums, grabbing the bowls and forks before turning towards you. A moment passes between you as he sees you in his shirt. You watch as pink forms on the highs of his cheekbones before splotching down the side of his neck. Is he mad? You almost offer to take it off. Joel swallows audibly before walking towards you.

He stops in front of you, managing to hold your eyes for a moment before he says, “Let’s sit down, ain’t good to eat standing up.”

Joel brushes past you, eliciting a gasp from you at the contact. You follow him but remain in the doorway, watching as he places bowls on opposite ends of the table. Joel looks back and cocks his head, gesturing for you to come sit before he turns and falls into his chair with a groan. You scurry over and sit, finally looking down at the mouthwatering food he prepared for you. You pause and look up, watching Joel as he shovels steaming spoonfuls into his mouth. You suddenly feel slightly overwhelmed. You haven’t been given a meal as good as this in ages. And the size of the portion, he gave you so much?! Surely this is a test of some sort, you didn’t deserve this much food, you were an omega.

Joel looks up, frowning at you before speaking through a mouthful of food, “What? You a vegetarian or something?”

“Veget- what? What’s that?,” you say back.

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “Nevermind, do you not like stir fry? I didn’t really know what else to make but if you want, I can make you something else.”

You sit there confused. Do you not like stir fry? Well first of all, you had never had it so you didn’t even know. Secondly, what did he mean he would make you something else? You could just simply… opt out of eating what he cooked? That was an option? Looking back up at Joel, he looks bewildered as he watches you grapple with your own thoughts.

“ I-I mean, I think I like it. I don’t know, I’ve never had it,” you mumble, looking down as you begin pushing the food around with your fork.

“Then eat it?,” he says incredulously, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You look him in the eyes, trying to see if he’s tricking you before you ask, “Do I get to eat all of it or will I get in trouble if I do?”

“Troub- what? What the hell are you talking about? I made that for you, you can eat some or all of it. Or fuck, I don’t know, eat none of it if that’s what you want. But ya gotta eat something other than candy or your belly is gonna be achin’ real soon darling,” Joel says, clearly baffled by your words and growing more impatient every second that you don’t eat.

You look down at the food again, sighing before you dig in. Joel watches as you moan around the first bites with a look in his eye that you can’t quite place, a look that makes you feel comforted even though you don’t fully understand it. Seemingly satisfied, he turns his attention back to his food and the two of you eat in silence.

The food is good, like really fucking good. Your mother had cooked, this is true, it was expected of her but she was never good at it. She boiled practically everything and what she didn’t boil, she would inevitably burn. Before the outbreak, you remember it was your father who had cooked all the family meals. You remember him playfully banishing her from touching anything in the kitchen ever again after she had started a small fire. After the outbreak the QZs only had rations, which didn’t really leave much room for culinary creativity.

Once Josiah came into your life your mother had taken up the task of homemaker, as that was the role he expected from her, but she never got any better at it despite the punishments she would get. The only time that you ever got to eat anything good was the rare occasions Josiah would bring candies for the pups, but you started getting left out of that the second that you reached puberty. Besides that, you remember that Miriam would sometimes sneak you pieces of sweet bread that she told you was called babka. You remember her bringing it to you after you had told her a little bit more about your dad. Miriam made you promise you wouldn’t tell anyone that she made it for you, especially not your stepfather, but you never understood why. Now you sat, eating the delicious food Joel made for you, and you wished you could repay the favor to her.

Once you were done Joel collected your plates, shooting you a stern look when you tried to help him before ushering you into the living room. You perched on the far end of the couch while he dropped down on the other end, the springs groaning from the weight of him.

“Okay,” Joel sighs before beginning, “Clearly, you’re a little bit lost. Well… I would say actually very lost because there ain’t a road in sight for damn near 30 miles, but that’s besides the point. You’re in a rough spot is what I’m trying to say, and I wanna help ya out but I need to know a bit more about you. Now, you can spare me the details, I just need to know who to take ya to.”

A beat passes before you say, “There’s… there’s no one.”

“What do you mean there’s no one? Where’s your group?”

You sigh, looking towards the wood carving of a man riding a horse on the bookshelf for a moment before you continue, “ I had a group… We had a leader, my stepdad, he… anyways, we were safe for a while, a really long time actually, but then a swarm of infected came from nowhere and we couldn’t fight them off. I left with a few people and we moved around for about a year before we stopped for gas in a town somewhere that way.”

Joel nods as you point vaguely in the direction you think it might be in, “Yeah, I know that little strip. The one with just a few shops and a gas station? Reckon it used to be a stop for truckers back in the day.”

You nod, hugging your knees to your chest with the tears starting to fall, “We weren’t there for very long but th-those things, they just came out of nowhere and then it was just me and R - … she told me to run so I did. By the time I stopped, I was lost. I didn’t know where to go so I just kept walking. I’d stop for a while but then I’d get scared and keep going. I ran out of food and then water. I thought I was going to d-die but then I heard the river. I was so happy but I p-passed out before I could make it.”

The real tears come now, violent sobs beginning to wrack your body. You had been so tired for so long, battling the elements and trying to stay alive. Fuck, even before the camp had been destroyed, you had been fighting. You choke on your tears, almost gagging at the desperation that feels like it’s clogging the valves of your heart. Suddenly, you’re lifted up and your eyes shoot open as Joel manhandles you onto his lap.

“Hush now sweet pea, s’all right. You’re okay, just breathe,” he murmurs, a large hand pushing the back of your head gently so that your face rests in the junction between his neck and shoulder.

Joel’s other hand comes up to draw circles on your back as you straddle him, feeling the heat of his chest against yours. You sit there frozen, unsure of what to do. What the hell is going on? You’ve never been in a position like this with an alpha before.

“I said, breathe, omega. Do it,” he says into your ear, his words somewhere between a command and a plea.

And so you do, a whine making its way out of your mouth before you even know it’s coming. Normally you’d be embarrassed, but Joel only makes a sympathetic noise and continues to rub your back with one hand while the other scratches at your scalp. You nose at the gland on his neck, drawing a soft growl from him but he doesn’t move to stop you. The smell coming from his neck is so him, so Joel, and you want to figure out a way to bottle it so that you can keep it forever. Slowly your body sags against him as the panic ebbs away. You worry vaguely about being a dead weight on top of him but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.

Gently, Joel pulls your head back, keeping his fingers in your hair as he eyes you. You look back at him with heavy lids, not scared of making direct eye contact with him at this moment for some reason. He removes his hand from your scalp, only to push a few strands behind your ear while his other hand continues to rub your back.

“Pretty girl,” he says quietly as he studies you.

You don’t think Joel even knows that he said it as he continues to dote on you for a moment. Meeting your gaze once more, he sighs and drops his hand away from your face. The other hand on your back stops rubbing circles, but remains there unmoving.

“Better?,” Joel questions, to which you nod, “Good. Now listen sweet pea, I ain’t gonna take you someplace you don’t wanna go but you don’t have a lot of options. My brother, Tommy, he’s a bit of an asshole but a good man. His mate, Maria, she’s the toughest beta I ever met. Scares the fuck out of me actually but don’t say nothing if you ever meet her.”

You giggle, which seems to please him before he continues, “They’ve got a place, Jackson it’s called, a community. It’s real secure, with loads of people and food. I could take you there and I’m sure they’d love to have ya. You’d have everything you need with them.”

You wait for him to continue, wondering when the other shoe will drop but Joel doesn’t say anything else. He just sits there looking at you.

“And?,” you prod, wondering what the catch was.

Joel clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably underneath you before he says, “The thing is darling, winter is about to hit. I’d bring ya there tomorrow if I could but I can’t - I wouldn’t want you out there when it gets real bad, you’d freeze.”

You nod again, raising an eyebrow at him, urging him to continue.

So he does, “I can bring you to Jackson darling, I think that’s your best option, but I can’t bring you there until the end of April. That’s when me and Tommy should be meeting up. I know that you probably don’t want to be stuck out here with an old man like me, I’m not saying that ya have to but I don’t know what else I can - OOF.”

You cut Joel off by launching yourself at him, practically suffocating him as you hug him tightly. He pauses before returning the hug awkwardly, despite the intimate embrace that you two had shared just moments before.

“Thank you Joel,” you whisper into his ear, eliciting a shiver from him.

Joel swallows, nodding before moving you off of him, ignoring your whines as he places you beside him on the couch. He is red in the face when he looks at you, biting his lip as he eyes the shirt that covers you - his shirt.

“Ain’t nothing. Now look, the bed in there can be yours. I’ll stay out here to give ya some space. You can do whatcha like while you’re here. The only thing I ask is don’t go too far, there’s bears in these woods, and don’t go into the room at the end of the hall. Got it?,” he asks.

Curiosity almost makes you question him but you decide against looking the gift horse in the mouth for now. Putting your questions aside for another day, you nod.

“Good girl,” he says, pausing for a second while heat rises to his cheeks once more.

Joel looks out the now blackened window, clearing his throat before looking back at you, “It’s getting late darling and you’ve had a long day. Might wanna head to bed, I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

As much as you want to stay up to soak in Joel’s presence just a little bit longer, you know that he’s right. Exhaustion pulls at your eyelids and injects lead into your limbs. Yawning, you nod and bid him goodnight. Trudging into the bedroom, you flop down on the bed, welcomed by the Joel scented sheets underneath you. Breathing in deeply, you drift off before you have time to even pull the covers up around you.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller fanfiction #a/b/o dynamics #alpha!joel miller #omega reader #last of us fanfiction #joel miller x reader #angst #comfort #a/b/o verse

47 notes · View notes